Season tickets, a Polish and beer--bring it on, Guv

April 04, 2003|By John Kass.

For some bizarre reason, not everyone will give two figs about Friday's White Sox home opener at what used to be called, but never really was, Comiskey Park.

Some might have other legitimate interests, like tweezing unwanted ear or nose hair. Others might not give even one fig for the Sox, which is due to their own blind prejudice, filthy ignorance and mental problems.

I understand. Really, I do.

But ask me if I care.

Friday is Sox Opening Day, and my cousin George and I broke down once again and bought season tickets, risking our wives' scorn. Just because we kept complaining and telling them that we wouldn't renew our tickets, they thought that we actually, really wouldn't renew our tickets.

How sad is that?

Wives have many strange notions about that special long-term emotional commitment--that bond between a man and his Sox season tickets.

They enjoy going to the games, but they also believe that family summer vacations are possible without White Sox baseball. They think the Sox schedule shouldn't control our lives.

How odd.

"What's wrong with spending real quality time with your family at the ballpark every day and night after night and on the weekends, too?" we ask.

They fix us with the piercing black-eyed stares of Mediterranean females.

Others who aren't thrilled about Friday's home opener include:

A) Cubs fans, including my brothers; B) passive-aggressive editors seething with anti-Sox rage; or C) those who would rather trade lines from movies I haven't seen than talk about the Sox, like the two guys I was with yesterday, talking about "Best in Show."

"So she turns to the pet shop owner," one guy said, "he's got a toy parrot, but she wants a bee toy for her Weimaraner, and she says, `It's a parrot, not a bee! It's a parrot, you [unprintable]!"

I stood there, listening, the polite smile of a potential homicidal maniac frozen on my face.

"What about the trophy wife with the old wrinkled husband?" said the other guy. "She says, `We have so much in common. Like soup and snow peas. And we can talk, or not talk, for hours.'"

"Hah! Yeah, that's a good one! Hah!"

All I kept wishing for was a stun gun.

Now, let's discuss the Sox fan bylaws.

First, don't forget that the Sox just might win it all. But it's also OK to admit that it would be nice if the infielders learned to pick up ground balls.

If you have kids, please show some kindness to others sitting near you. Take the kids to the batting cages in the ballpark and let them run and throw for hours and run them up the ramps so as to exhaust the children before the first pitch.

Also, remember the corn guy along the first-base side of the concourse. If you get the corn, don't just have it plain. Slap on the mayo and butter, the salt, pepper, lime and extra chili powder.

Have a Polish, too, but no ketchup.

Remember the best food deal is the corned-beef sandwiches out in right field, near the best right fielder in Chicago.

Don't forget to tip the women who serve the draft beer. Only psychiatrists and lawyers refuse to tip properly.

For some strange reason, many of the bartenders are named Peggy or Sharon. Don't ask why.

No getting drunk and chasing out onto the field with any of your drunken tattooed shirtless Rat Boy offspring to attack elderly first-base coaches from opposing teams.

If you want a real workout, try picking on some of the larger cops. They might oblige.

Now, let's deal with the naming rights.

Sox Chairman Jerry Reinsdorf plucked $68 million from a cellphone company for naming rights to the ballpark. He thinks we're going to call it by its new mercenary name.

Jer? No chance. No Sox fan will ever call it by the mercenary name.

We could, though, speak the mercenary name in the true Chicago way, as when we refer to a certain supermarket named the Jewel's.

So how about this?

U.S. Cellular's Fields.

I prefer pronouncing it as "Soxpark." Not "Sox Park," but "Soxpark," which is proper.

Gov. Rod "The Reformer" Blagojevich is allegedly going to throw out the first pitch. He should know that North Side politicians are generally booed at such events.

The last time I saw a governor at Sox Park, it was former Gov. George Ryan, dancing to "YMCA" during the seventh-inning stretch in the playoffs a few years ago.

In his blue suit Ryan looked ridiculous, making the "M" shape above his head, offering an impish expression to a horrified crowd.

Jinxed, the Sox lost to Seattle. Ryan is now under federal investigation.

"Blago is throwing out the first pitch," noted a colleague. "Hopefully, we'll see his screwball, and I'm not talking about [ Lt. Gov.] Pat Quinn."